Sybil
by Dibellan Arts
Summary: Markarth's priestesses of Dibella initiate their new Sybil, Fjotra. [Femslash. Mature readers only]


~o~

On the morning of her sixteenth birthday, Fjotra stormed around the Temple of Dibella in a towering temper, knocking over baskets and sending stacks of books flying. She was locked out of the inner sanctum _again _because the sisters were communing with Dibella. Communing with Dibella! And Fjotra, her Sybil, not allowed inside! It was beyond ridiculous.

"This isn't fair! I want to commune too!" she yelled, though there wasn't anyone in the room apart from herself.

"Patience, daughter," a mild, feminine voice said. "The time is not yet ripe. You are not—"

"I know, I know, I'm not old enough to enter into the sisterhood," Fjotra interrupted loudly. "But Dibella, why do you allow the sisters commune without me? _I_ am your Sybil! If anyone should hear your will, it should be me."

The goddess sighed. Fjotra was… passionate, to put it kindly. Ever since she had arrived at the temple six years ago, she had complained—loudly—whenever the sisters entered into communion without her. It was in her nature to value acceptance above all else and she viewed her exclusion from the communion as a form of rejection. Sometimes it made her sulk for days on end. And other times, like today, it simply infuriated her.

"Fjotra, I am speaking with you right now," Dibella tried to console her headstrong child. "You will always be the first to hear my word."

"I want to commune with the sisters," Fjotra cried, aiming a kick at a basket of flowers and spilling them everywhere. "Mother Hamal said I might when I turned sixteen. Well, now I'm sixteen! And I want in!"

If Dibella could have rolled her eyes, she would have. "Mother Hamal decided that you are still too young," she said. "Obey her word, Fjotra."

"But what of your word?" Fjotra inquired. "What do you say, oh Goddess of Beauty? Sixteen is not so young. I want to hear your word. I want to learn your secrets." She clasped her hands together. Her dark eyes shone with longing.

"All in good time," Dibella murmured. Her voice echoed in Fjotra's head; it was soft and serene and lovely. "Oh my daughter, you were born to commune with your sisters. But you must be ready first. Hamal, Senna, Anwen, Orla—they all had to be initiated first. And so do you."

"So initiate me," Fjotra pled. She tossed her head imperiously. Her dark, waist-length hair gleamed in the candlelight. "Initiate me today."

"The time is not right," Dibella said.

"Ugh!" Fjotra groaned, slumping to the cold stone floor. She pressed her fists to her temples and squeezed her eyes shut. "Dibella, how can you be so cruel to me?" she cried.

"I am sorry, child," the goddess breathed. And she was.

~o~

The afternoon wore on. Fjotra paced around the room for a while. She nibbled at an apple and discovered that she didn't really feel like eating. She picked up a book and riffled through the pages absentmindedly, wondering, for what felt like the millionth time, what could be going on in the sanctum that she was "too young" to participate in.

Around three, the temple doors opened. A stranger stepped in. He was wearing a full suit of ebony armor.

Fjotra stood. "Greetings," she said warily. The temple didn't often get visitors. "What can I do for you?"

The stranger looked around for a moment, then removed his helmet. He had long brown hair and beady black eyes. There was something familiar about his expression, but Fjotra wasn't quite sure what it was.

"You the little girl, then?" he asked in a heavy Nordic accent. His voice was deep, but not unkind.

All at once, Fjotra recognized him. "Oh—you're the one who rescued me from the forsworn!"

The Nord grinned. "You remember, huh?"

"How could I forget?" Fjotra cried. A smile spread across her face. "Do you still have that dog that came along with us?"

"Meeko?" the man asked. "Sure. He's getting on in years, but he's still kicking."

Fjotra was positively delighted. She was a sentimental little thing and the sight of the Nord who had once saved her life was more than enough to distract her from her woes. She sat next to him on the steps of the altar and asked him to tell her a story. So he told her about his adventures with Meeko, fighting bandits and falmer and all manner of terrifying creatures. She laughed and gasped in all the right places. Before she knew it she was leaning toward the man, clutching his arm and gazing up into his eyes.

She was beautiful. Her eyes were dark and large, like a doe's, and she had fine, angular eyebrows. When her long hair fell into her eyes, she brushed at it impatiently before returning her attention to the handsome Nord. He was quite taken with her beauty and affectionate attention. When she interrupted his tale to lean toward him with her shapely little lips puckered, he found that he had no objections to whatever she had in mind.

She kissed him hesitantly at first. She had seen her mother and father kiss years ago, but she had little education on the subject herself. She soon found, however, that she had a natural gift for it—or at least she seemed to; the Nord responded to her with such enthusiasm that he drew her into his lap and cradled her face in his hands.

She found that she liked kissing very much. It was better than candy, better than sweetrolls, better than anything she had ever experienced. She stroked the man's tousled hair and inhaled the sweet smell that came off his skin. When he wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her even closer to him, she trembled with a sort of longing that she didn't understand—but oh, how she wanted to understand it!

"Fjotra, my child," said an amused-sounding voice in her head. "Whatever are you doing?"

Fjotra broke the kiss. Part of her had known that Dibella was watching all along, but the goddess's voice woke her as though from a highly agreeable dream. "I don't know, Dibella, but it feels wonderful," she said, smiling dreamily.

The Nord looked up in surprise. Was the girl talking to herself? Then he understood. "Oh, right—Dibella! You're her Sybil!"

Fjotra gave him a languorous grin. "Yes."

"What's it like? Do you talk to her all the time? Is she always watching you?" the Nord wanted to know. He didn't seem bothered. On the contrary, his eyes sparkled with laughter.

"I _think_ she's always watching me," Fjotra said with a glance at the ceiling. "And she talks to me most of the time. Although she was pretty quiet through all that."

Dibella laughed in Fjotra's head; it was a low, musical sound. "Wrap your arms around his neck," she advised. "And maybe you could talk him into taking some of that armor off."

Fjotra giggled. Of course Dibella wouldn't object. She was the Lady of Love, after all.

"What does she say now?" the Nord asked after Fjotra had been quiet for several moments.

"She wants you to take your armor off." Fjotra peeked up at him from beneath her long lashes. She tilted her head to the side in a most charming manner; her hair spilled over her shoulders.

The Nord grinned.

When the door burst open and Mother Hamel came into the foyer, the man was laying on the floor, flat on his back, with Fjotra's lips pressed against his fully erect member. Precum and saliva dribbled down it.

"Out!" Mother Hamel shrieked. "What in the world do you think you are doing? Get out of the temple this instant!"

Fjotra sprang to her feet. She was all in a flutter as Mother Hamal swooped down on them, cursing and scolding, but the Nord only laughed and slipped into his clothes and armor. Fjotra wasn't sure what was so amusing about the situation, but it encouraged her to see that the Nord wasn't perturbed.

"Sorry for getting you in trouble," he said to Fjotra.

Once Mother Hamel had shouted him out the door, Senna and Orla emerged from the sanctum.

"What's with all the yelling?" Senna said lazily.

"A strange man waltzed in here and took advantage of Fjotra while we were communing, that's what!" Mother Hamal raged.

Senna whirled around and gaped at the Sybil. "By the divines—are you alright?" she asked urgently.

Fjotra stared back at her, confused. "Of course I'm alright," she said. "I was only doing what Lady Dibella told me to do."

Mother Hamal and Senna exchanged startled looks.

"Our lady told you to give a stranger a blowjob?" Mother Hamal asked skeptically.

Fjotra's brow furrowed. "I'm not sure what a blowjob is. But… she did tell me how to make him feel good." A smirk stole across her face. She wasn't sure why, but she couldn't stop smiling.

Senna gave her an approving look. "She did? That's wonderful, Fjotra."

Mother Hamal shook her head at Senna. Then she took Fjotra by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. "Are you certain that you are alright?" she asked tenderly.

"Yes Mother, I'm fine," Fjotra assured her. "It was Dibella's idea, not his. But will you go back inside the sanctum? Maybe if you leave, he'll come back."

Orla and Senna threw back their heads and laughed.

"Stop! This is no laughing matter!" Mother Hamal scolded them. Her wrinkled features arranged themselves into a scowl.

"Oh Mother," Senna chortled, "Just listen to her! She's ready!"

"Humph!" Mother Hamal said. "I've never heard of a sixteen year old initiate before. She's too young."

Fjotra whirled around. "No I'm not," she cried. "I'm ready for whatever Dibella has in store."

Orla spoke up. "She does seem to have our lady's personal touch. Come on, Mother. Surely you can see that she is more gifted than the usual initiate."

"You two desire a new sister, is all," Hamal said dismissively. "You do not care about Fjotra's needs."

"Oh give me a break," Senna snapped. "Look at her! She's practically cross-eyed with lust."

Fjotra frowned. "Hey, I'm not either cross-eyed," she complained.

"Shhh," Orla silenced her.

Mother Hamal seemed to deliberate for a moment. Then she shook her head and opened her mouth to speak.

Suddenly, Dibella's voice filled the room. "It is time," she said. "Today Fjotra has proven herself ready to join the sisterhood. Prepare for her initiation. This is my word."

Silence hung in the chamber. Mother Hamal closed her mouth.

Fjotra's eyes widened with surprise. Then she laughed and clapped her hands together. "Our lady has spoken!" she shouted. "I get to enter into the sisterhood!"

"Well…" Senna said. She and Orla looked at Mother Hamal nervously.

After a long moment, the old priestess seemed to come to her senses. "Prepare the altar, Senna," she said in a business-like tone. Then she grabbed Fjotra by the hand. "Fjotra, come with me into the sanctum."

Beaming, the girl followed Mother Hamal out of the room.

~o~

Mother Hamal filled a basin of hot water and instructed Fjotra to take a bath. When the girl was finished, she and Mother Hamal went back upstairs.

When Fjotra reentered the antechamber, a strange sight met her eyes.

The altar, which was usually full of water, was now filled with lavender oil. Its sweet, heavy perfume filled the room. Senna, Orla, and Anwen stood around it with their palms pressed together.

"Is the oil warm?" Mother Hamel asked.

"Yes," Anwen replied.

"Then let us begin."

The priestesses knelt at the altar. They took hands and bowed their hooded heads. "Dibella," Anwen began in her rich, deep voice, "Goddess of Beauty and Goddess of Love. Hear us, oh Dibella."

"Bless this, thine oil," Orla sang out. "So that we might crown Fjotra with thy grace."

"Bestow thy spirit upon this oil and upon Fjotra, thine Sybil and humble servant," Senna murmured fervently.

Mother Hamal took Fjotra by the shoulders and guided her toward the altar. Fjotra looked around at the sisters. She wondered what all the oil was for. And why was the room so heavily perfumed? It was already making her a little dizzy.

"Kneel, Fjotra," Anwen said softly, looking into the Sybil's large, dark eyes.

Fjotra complied.

Anwen dipped her middle finger into the oil. Then she smeared it across Fjotra's forehead. She reached into a basket near the base of the altar, grabbed a handful of dried lavender petals, and sprinkled them over the girl's head. "Dibella, we crown thy Sybil. Let thy spirit enter into her and guide her in the ways of art, love, and sisterhood," she chanted.

"Blessing of Dibella upon you, sister," Orla, Senna, and Anwen chanted in unison.

"Fjotra, I grant my blessing upon you," Dibella's musical voice rang through the sisters' heads. "Now you may begin your initiation."

Fjotra beamed. Senna and Orla smiled back at her, but Mother Hamal gave them all a stern look.

Then Orla and Senna each plunged a hand into the oil. When they drew them out, they were glistening and dripping. With the tips of their fingers, they applied the oil to their lips. Then they knelt before Fjotra and kissed her feet. Senna even sucked on the girl's big toe.

Fjotra fought the urge to giggle. It tickled.

After a few minutes, each of the sisters—Mother Hamal included—grabbed Fjotra's robes and pulled them up over her head. When the girl emerged from beneath her collar, she stood there in her underwear gaping at them with rumpled hair and wide eyes. What were they doing? She'd never been naked in front of anybody before. For the first time since the ceremony began, she felt a twinge of anxiety.

"Be comforted, my Sybil," Dibella's voice said. "All is well."

Fjotra relaxed and closed her eyes.

Mother Hamal unclasped the girl's bra and Orla drew her panties down over her hips. When Fjotra was completely naked, Senna picked up her clothes, folded them, and stacked them at the base of the altar.

"In here now, child," Mother Hamal instructed, taking Fjotra's hands and drawing her closer to the pool. Fjotra stepped into it and waded to the center, frowning. She had never been allowed to touch its contents before, much less wade through them.

Senna, Orla, and Anwen dipped their fingers in oil and wiped it on their lips. Then they knelt down beside the pool and bathed Fjotra's calves and knees in warm, slippery kisses. At first the girl squirmed. Being kissed by women was an entirely foreign concept to her. And it did strange things to her body; as she watched, her tiny pink nipples grew round and hard in the flickering candlelight.

Holding onto the edge of the altar, Senna kissed all the way up Fjotra's leg. Then she straightened up and pressed her lips to Fjotra's shoulder. The girl shivered as Senna trailed warm, wet kisses all the way down her arm. She took the girl's middle finger in her mouth and sucked on it, her eyes closed and her white-blonde hair clinging to her oily cheek.

Orla straightened up and touched Fjotra's breast with the very tip of her tongue. Fjotra glanced down at her. The woman put a reassuring hand on her shoulder and took the girl's nipple in her mouth. Fjotra's gasped at the warmth and wetness on her sensitive skin.

Without any warning, Anwen grabbed Fjotra's buttocks in her oily hands. Fjotra jumped.

"It's alright," Anwen crooned in her deep, soothing voice. She bent over and smattered the girl's lower back in kisses. Fjotra moaned lightly. She found herself twisting around and reaching for Anwen; for some reason she was seized with an uncontrollable urge to hold her. But Senna took her shoulders and twisted her around so that she was facing the door.

Anwen massaged Fjotra's buttocks roughly, smearing them with oil. They gleamed in the dim light, pearly white and very shapely. "Beautiful," the woman murmured.

Under the sisters' attentions, Fjotra was soon dripping with oil. Her long brown hair clung to her skin in wet, slippery strands.

She wasn't apprehensive anymore. In fact, she had entered into a sort of trance, her eyes half-lidded and her mouth agape. The sensation of so many sets of lips and hands rubbing and kissing and sucking her skin left her quite devoid of any emotion but dreamy delight.

"There now," Dibella murmured. "Are you ready to join your sisters, Fjotra?"

Fjotra nodded. She couldn't remember how to speak.

All at once, Senna, Orla, and Anwen drew back. They began to undress. It was the first time that Fjotra had ever seen them without their hoods on.

Senna was the first to finish undressing. Her full lips and bright eyes looked lovelier than ever against her pink-white hair. Fjotra noticed that she had dark face paint on her forehead. As for her body, she had a long neck, angular shoulders, and a very slender body. Her waist was exceptionally tiny.

Anwen was equally lovely. Her skin was dark and smooth and she had very large hips and breasts. Her nipples were almost black.

As for Orla, she had one of the loveliest faces in all of Skyrim and the sleekest, palest body of all the sisters. Her white-blonde hair fell upon her shoulders in shining ringlets and her stiff young breasts thrust out aggressively.

Mother Hamal undressed last. Though her skin was wrinkled with age, she had a comely figure. Since she'd never nursed any babies, her breasts were still fairly firm.

Fjotra was filled with an inexplicable longing at the sight of her naked sisters. For years she had yearned to join them in the inner sanctum. She had yearned to share in their secrets, to understand their confiding touches and sentiments, to close the distance between them, somehow. Now she could join them at last—Dibella willing.

All four sisters stepped into the pool with Fjotra. The girl shivered as their warm bodies pressed in all around her. Senna and Orla's long hair tickled her skin.

"Are you ready to enter into the sisterhood, young one?" Mother Hamal asked.

Fjotra nodded. She wasn't exactly sure what was coming, but excitement flooded through her as Anwen placed a hand over her left buttock.

Mother Hamal, Anwen, Orla, and Senna wrapped their arms around Fjotra and each other. "Dibella," they said together, "Dibella. Make us one."

Senna lifted her right leg over Orla's left leg. Orla did the same to Anwen. Anwen did the same to Mother Hamal. And Mother Hamal did the same to Senna. They were all intertwined. They began to utter a rhythmic chant. "Dibella, Dibella, Dibella…"

As they chanted, they rocked and rolled their hips, thrusting against Fjotra's slender body. Fjotra let out a long whimper. She could feel her sisters' pubic bones pressing into her thighs and buttocks. Sweet pleasure began to build up inside her. She didn't know what it was but she hoped it wouldn't ever stop.

Suddenly a warm summer breeze came rushing through the temple. Fjotra opened her eyes and was astonished to see that the altar had been transported to a meadow, high in the mountains. Wildflowers nodded in the breeze. The wind rushed through the pines.

Fjotra looked around at her sisters in astonishment. "Look. Oh, look!" she cried.

The sisters opened their eyes. Senna gave Fjotra an indulgent smile, but none of them paused in their chanting. Apparently this sort of thing happened all the time. Or at least the sisters had anticipated it.

Fjotra looked around her in wonderment. She could feel the sunlight on her back. The wind was cool against her hot, damp skin. And she smelled honeysuckle. How could it be?

"You are in my realm, Fjotra," Dibella said. Her voice rang through the air, echoing off the trees.

The girl gasped.

"Now join with your sisters. Join with me. Become my true Sybil."

Fjotra's heart welled up with love for her lady and love for her sisters. She flung her arms around them and smattered their necks with kisses—first Senna, then Orla, then Mother Hamal, then Anwen. They were all so beautiful! They laughed happily and kissed her in return.

Together, they sank down to their knees. Their five bodies filled the pool, sending oil flooding up over their shoulders and onto the ground. The sisters formed a circle around Fjotra, their backs pressed against the walls of the pool, their legs intertwined. Fjotra couldn't tell whose legs were whose. She spread her own out before her and rested her heels on the edge of the pool. Her navel gleamed wetly in the brilliant sunlight.

The sisters bent over and kissed Fjotra's body. Mother Hamel brushed her lips along one of the girl's legs, pausing to nibble at her knee. Senna kissed the girl's neck and massaged her shoulders. Orla sucked on Fjotra's nipples, her tongue doing laps around them, drenching them in hot, wet saliva. And Anwen wormed her hands underneath Fjotra's backside and massaged it roughly. One of her fingers brushed Fjotra's snatch and the girl let out a startled cry. When Anwen pressed her finger against Fjotra's clit, her hips shot up involuntarily. Orla leaned over and gave the girl's snatch a long, wet lick.

"Oh," Fjotra breathed. What in the world was that sweet, fiery pleasure that shot up her spine whenever one of her sisters touched the folds between her legs? She had certainly never felt anything like it before. It was better than candy _and _kissing.

As the sisters kissed and massaged every inch of her body, she closed her eyes and let her head fall back. Whenever Anwen brushed her snatch, she couldn't help but twitch and gasp. It felt so wonderful. Before she knew it, she was gyrating, thrusting her hips into the air and breathing like she'd run a hundred miles.

The sisters smiled at her enthusiasm. Orla buried her face in the girl's pussy, smothering her clit with her tongue. Fjotra rocked her hips against Orla's mouth; the woman turned her head so that Fjotra could grind against her oily cheekbone. The girl's sparse pubic hair scratched Orla's cheek as she smeared her sticky arousal all over her face. Before Fjotra could stop herself, she wrapped her legs around Orla's neck and humped her face very fast and hard.

"Be gentle, Fjotra," Senna chided, putting a restraining hand on the Sybil's knee. Fjotra slumped to the mass of legs underneath her with a disappointed groan.

But Orla only laughed softly. "It's alright," she said. She buried her face in Fjotra's snatch and nibbled her clit very gently. Fjotra thrashed.

Since the sisters' legs were intertwined, Fjotra's jarring movements sent a wave of pleasure through all of them, which got them grinding on one another. The pool became a mass of gyrating hips and legs. Several of the sisters issued sighs of pleasure as their oily bodies slid over one another.

Fjotra flipped over so that she was lying on her stomach and began to grind on someone's knee—hard. The resulting sensation was wonderful; each time her clit came in contact with the hard surface, a bolt of sweet fire shot down her spine. She rested her head on Senna's oily breast. After a few moments, she turned her head to the side, caught Senna's nipple in her mouth, and suckled it. It was warm and wet and sweet.

After a few moments of this, Fjotra found that she wanted to touch Senna more. She grabbed the woman's foot and tugged on it to get her attention. Discerning what the girl wanted, Senna disentangled her legs and spread them before Fjotra, smiling.

Fjotra admired the priestess's pussy. It was pretty and plump and decadent looking. Then she had an idea. She straddled Senna's leg and slid along it until their slippery, oily folds came together. Senna adjusted her hips and thrust her free leg straight into the air. Fjotra hugged it between her breasts and began to hump Senna's pussy.

Before long, Fjotra was humping harder and faster than ever, her mouth falling open and her breaths coming in rapid gasps. With every movement her breasts bounced and lulled, flashing wetly in the sunlight.

Orla could not resist the sight of Fjotra's tiny bouncing breasts. She came up behind the girl, straddled Senna's leg, and began to grind on Fjotra's backside. Then she wrapped her arms around the girl's skinny ribcage and squeezed her breasts tightly.

Mother Hamal began to kiss her way up and down Fjotra's side. Her steel-gray hair clung to the girl's oily skin. Anwen did the same on Fjotra's other side.

Fjotra whimpered. She was overwhelmed with sensation. Kisses rained down on her body, smearing her skin with oil and saliva, causing her pelvic floor muscles to clench and unclench sporadically. Orla jabbed Fjotra's soft buttocks with her prominent pubic bone as she grinded against them. She kneaded the girl's breasts as hard as she could, sending jolts of pleasure down her spine. And Senna drilled into the girl's slippery folds with her own marble-hard clit. Fjotra was so blissed out that she could only kneel there, her eyes half-lidded and her breast heaving. Senna leaned forward and mashed her lips against Fjotra's, smearing them with moisture.

Fjotra stiffened; her pelvic muscles slammed down on her vaginal walls and sweet fire raged from her pleasure center to the tips of her fingers and toes. She screamed in delight, twisting and flailing, her eyes popping out of her head and her lips twitching wordlessly.

After it was over, she fell against Orla's chest like a sack of potatoes.

Senna slid a finger between Fjotra's slippery folds and inserted it into her body. Then she chuckled with satisfaction; the girl's rapid contractions indicated that she had climaxed—and _hard_.

"Welcome to the sisterhood, Fjotra," Senna murmured, her full lips curving into a smile.

"Ohh," Fjotra breathed. Orla kissed her temple.

"You did well," Mother Hamal told her. "Dibella has truly blessed you, child."

Fjotra knew that she would never be able to form a coherent sentence in her current condition, so she simply smiled up at them all. She was finally one of them! She could scarcely believe it. Anwen lifted the girl's fingers to her lips and kissed them very tenderly.

After a moment or two had passed, sleepiness overcame Fjotra. Her eyelids drooped. "I'm so… tired," she breathed. "Why am I so tired all of a sudden?"

"It is Dibella's will," Anwen explained, leaning over her. "Rest now, dear one."

Fjotra sighed and closed her eyes. Sleep washed over her almost instantaneously. She dreamed that a woman with plump breasts, full hips, and long hair bent over her and kissed her on the forehead.

The woman's hands were flowers.

~o~

Dibella's Sybil awoke after what felt like an eternity of slumber.

She looked around her. She was nestled in a pile of robes at the base of the altar of Dibella. Candlelight flickered off the walls.

"Ah, you're finally awake," Senna said softly. She was sitting nearby with a book in her lap.

Fjotra sat up and stretched. She was very stiff. "How long was I a—a—sleep?" she asked, trying, and failing, to stifle a huge yawn.

Senna shrugged. "About five days."

"Five _days_?" Fjotra gasped. She had never slept for more than eight consecutive hours in her entire life.

Senna smiled. "Yes. We were starting to wonder if Dibella was ever going to give you back."

"You mean I was with Dibella… while I was sleeping?" Fjotra asked.

"Precisely," Senna said.

"But—how—why—?"

"Dibella takes all of her initiates into her realm for a time," Senna explained. "Though it is usually only for an hour or two."

"I don't remember anything…" Fjotra murmured. She looked up at Senna. "I mean—I remember you. I remember you welcoming me into the sisterhood and…." Suddenly she blushed.

Senna smiled gently. "Most initiates don't remember anything once they fall asleep. I didn't."

"So… why did Dibella keep me so long?"

Senna shut her book and set it on the edge of the altar. "She was imbuing you, Fjotra. Imbuing you with her spirit. Do you know what that means?"

Fjotra shook her head.

"It means that she was pouring a bit of herself into you. And after five days, I shouldn't wonder if your talent exceeded Mother Hamal's."

A smile spread across Fjotra's face. "So… am I really one of the sisters now?"

Senna beamed at her. "Yes. And more. You are our Sybil. You lead us now, Fjotra."

After a moment of contemplation, Fjotra sprang to her feet. "Then let us commune," she said commandingly. "Let us commune with Dibella!"

Senna was slightly taken aback. "_Now_, Fjotra? Whatever for?"

"Because I want to," Fjotra sang out. "Because I finally can. What say you, Lady of Love?"

Dibella spoke. "Come unto me, my child," she said. "Gather your sisters and enter into my embrace."

Fjotra skipped over to Senna and grabbed her by the hand. "Our lady has spoken," she said brightly. "We commune!"

Senna smiled at the girl's enthusiasm. "Guess I can't argue with a goddess," she said. She gave Fjotra a swift peck on the cheek.

And they entered the inner sanctum, where Anwen, Orla, and Mother Hamal knelt before the shrine of their lady divine.


End file.
